


Beginner's Luck

by InNeedOfANap



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fails Miserably, I know how to tag, John tries to pirouette, M/M, Not too fluffy, Sherlock is a dancer, hopefully in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:51:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNeedOfANap/pseuds/InNeedOfANap
Summary: John attempts to learn to pirouette and Sherlock is a terrible teacher





	

                “Oh come on, it can’t be that hard,” John protested. “I mean, if you can do it in a full-on suit I can do it in sweatpants.”

                “Honestly, John, you’re a doctor. You’d think that someone with 15 years in the field would have at least some knowledge of high-intensity sports,” Sherlock replied quickly, his eyes brushing over John’s face for any sign of relenting. He knew, of course, that John was nearly as stubborn as he was, despite the fact that he’d never admit it. It had taken him all of thirty years to admit that he was not straight, but rather bisexual- which Sherlock had deduced within about a week- six and a half days to be precise.     “What?” He asked, looking back at him. The one thing Sherlock hadn’t realized was that John had actually noticed the brief pause that Sherlock had taken from ‘looking deductive.’ His eyes had gone unfocused for barely a second before returning to look into John’s own, but even that tiny moment had become clear to him after so many years in Sherlock’s company. The days that they’d spend on cases together trained John to finally begin observing, rather than just seeing. Well, that’s what Sherlock said. John thought that he was just being pretentious- as always- and that everybody observed things, just some more than others. But of course he was never going to try and argue that, for he knew he’d end up being proven wrong one way or another.

                Sherlock’s response finally came a moment later, eloquent as always. “What?” He repeated, for once confused.

                “You did something.”

                “Yes, I tend to do that. It’s one of the perks of being alive.”

                “Hush. You know what I mean.”

                “Do I, now?”

                “Yes. You do. And you’re well aware of it. You unfocused for like half a second. What were you thinking about?” John asked, clearly getting annoyed. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling certainly, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there, and he could never seem to get used to it. But somehow Sherlock had managed to make his constant need to be an insufferable bastard intriguing, and John could never find himself staying mad at him for very long.

                “Oh, I was just thinking about how much I love you,” he answered, his tone more satiric than anything John had ever heard. John only sighed and went back to their previous subject, knowing there was very little, if any, hope for legitimate a response.

                “Anyway. My point still stands. If you can do a- whatever the hell that spin is called-”

                “-Pirouette.”

                “Yes that. If you can do a pirouette in a suit and tie I can do one too. Besides, it’s not like you ever actually learned to do ballet. Knowing you, you probably just found a video somewhere and mastered the art a second later.”

                “Wrong,” Sherlock said simply.

                “Don’t start with me,” John warned.

                “No, you’re wrong. I took ballet for seven years when I was a child. Didn’t you know that?”

                “…No, actually. Seriously?” He asked, eyes wide. Dance seemed like such an un-Sherlock thing to do. It was such a passionate sport, filled to the brim with movement and emotion. Sherlock was different. He seemed too cold to be able to do such a thing well. At least not always; at least not in front of people he didn’t know. For all their time together, John could never remember Sherlock actually showing emotion in front of anybody who wasn’t completely familiar. Even the first two years he spent with Sherlock had resulted in John calling the latter a machine, or something of the sort, more times than one.

                Sherlock, of course, only nodded. “Yes, and I do believe I’ve mentioned it before. Your silly little brain jus-”

                He was cut off by a glare.

                “Anyway, yes, I did. This was before Mycroft and I began going to school. A terrible idea, really.”

                John sighed. “Yes, yes, you two are geniuses and couldn’t stand being around all the ‘goldfish,’ as he so lovingly calls us. Now. How do you a pirouette?”

                Sherlock finally began to explain. He stood up with his right foot placed behind his left, and John mimicked him, attempting to keep his balance.  His hands raised with Sherlock’s, just barely separated, arms forming a near circle with his body. Though while Sherlock’s fingers gracefully mimicked the curve of his arms, long and slender, John’s seemed only to cut it off, a sharp arrow contrasting the arc of its bow.

                Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. “No no, that’s not right, you’ve got to-”

                John only shook his head. “You’ve got seven years on me, and my leg is cramping up. What am I doing next?”  
                Sherlock carefully explained how to turn his torso to the side opposite his back leg, and then push off in the opposite direction, while at the same time bringing the back leg up to his knee. He showed him slowly first, leaving John amazed at how he was able to keep spinning with an almost complete lack of momentum.

                “Your turn.” He said flatly when he was done.

                John attempted to do as he was told, and when he landed back on two feet he looked up at Sherlock, surprised to see a genuine look of pride on his face.

                He quickly brushed it off. “Not bad. Your form was off though, and you forgot to spot… we could definitely work on your landing, but… not bad at all. Beginners luck, I suppose. Yes, certainly. Do it again,” He said, crossing his arms.

                John huffed but attempted to repeat his actions, trying to follow his boyfriend’s advice. Spotting, at least, he knew from Harry’s jazz training. He tried to turn his head around as he spun, but whipped it too hard and lost balance, falling.

                John felt his leg twist under him, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, and in a pretty large amount of pain.

                Sherlock bent down beside him, checking his face for a clue as to where the pain was before noticing his hands wrapped tightly around his ankle.

                “John, let go. How badly did you hurt it? Are you okay?” he asked, rushed.

                He quickly inspected himself, wincing at nearly every movement. “Fine. Just a sprain.” John groaned. “Fuck you and your ‘beginners luck.’ But hey, at least now my limp won’t be psychosomatic.”

                Sherlock laughed softly and pecked his lips, pulling away before John thought it could be counted as a real kiss. “This is true. Now let’s get you to a hospital, and leave the dancing to me.”

                John could only nod in his pained state, but still managed to get another kiss out of Sherlock before he was helped up so that they could go to the hospital.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!  
> This was a Christmas present for a friend, and I finally finished!  
> Please leave a comment, even just a word, it seriously makes my day  
> Thank you, and DFTBA
> 
> Also hmu on tumblr @iwilldevourthebodies and @rentandhamandwickedandlesmis


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